


The Prettiest Titan

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Gen, Language, fun in the sun, these precious cupcakes deserve some relaxation, what do you mean the canon is doom and gloom??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme prompt: </p><p>"Sometime after joining the Scouting Legion, the new recruits find themselves with a free afternoon. They've done all their chores and there's no training scheduled, so they're free to do whatever they please (within reason). The girls are bored, and they look around for something to do...</p><p>The next thing Eren knows, he's got several females climbing up to his shoulders and immediately going after his hair, chattering to each other about styles."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prettiest Titan

“Do you think...” Jean said slowly, “that there’s a God? Do you think we did something to piss him off? Does anyone else get the feeling that Yeager was the ultimate suck up in some ethereal past life and now he’s reaping the karmic benefits?”

 

Mikasa didn’t even look up from the blade she was cleaning. “Did you finish the stables or not?”

 

“... Yes.”

 

“Then sit.”

 

Jean sat, right next to Connie who snickered shamelessly. The rest of their group did their best to ignore him. Armin had his nose buried in a book (though Jean was pretty sure he was smothering a grin too, the jerk), while Annie slowly worked through a text of her own, casting frequent glances at Armin like she’d get better at reading through proximity alone. It was admittedly creepy. Sasha had her legs across Connie’s lap, inching forward every few minutes as she munched grass like some kind of morose, pitiable cow. Historia and Ymir were... well... doing things that probably should only be done behind closed doors. Not that anyone seemed to mind.

 

Jean wasn’t deterred. He waved his hands emphatically at the field to their right. “Look at him!” he groused.

 

“Jean. C’mon.”

 

“I’m serious, Connie.” He gripped a handful of grass and tossed it in frustration, causing Sasha to gasp. “How is this even remotely fair? We spend the day cleaning this place top to bottom. Yeager spends it sitting on his ass!”

 

As if on cue, all heads turned towards Eren. He was definitely still sitting... exactly as he’d sat about four hours before. Armin watched his friend’s titan form shift slightly from one side to the other and winced in sympathy. They all saw one giant knee twitch like it wanted to straighten out—

 

“No moving!” Hanji shrieked from their nearby tree. A flutter of pages followed the shout. With a sigh that could be seen all the way from across the field, Levi hopped down from his own limb to retrieve them.

 

“How many hours has it been?” Historia asked. She craned to get a better look, but Ymir pulled her gently back by her hair.

 

Sasha drooled. “Three hours and seventeen minutes since lunch,” she whispered. Moving mechanically, she pulled more grass and stuffed it desperately into her mouth, dirt and all. Connie winced.

 

“Jeez, Sasha. At least eat the onion grass.”

 

“ONION GRASS?”

 

“Well yeah, it’s—”

 

“WHERE?”

 

“Oh my go—there— _there!_ Easy, Sasha!”

 

“Three, four, five,” Annie was counting. She finally let her hand fall with a shrug. “At least six hours.”

 

More sympathetic looks were shared, all of which made Jean gnash his teeth.

 

“Hanji says it’s very important work,” Armin piped up. He didn’t look terribly convinced though. “We need to know exactly how long Eren can maintain his titan form, but that might vary wildly depending on how much energy he’s exerting. So this is sort of a... baseline.”

 

Ymir snorted. “So what you’re saying is he’s going to have to do this endlessly, just with stupid variations?”

 

“... probably.”

 

“Unbelievable.” Jean pulled at his hair.

 

“I’m sure his legs must be cramping horribly by now,” Historia said. She paused. “Wait. Do titan’s muscles cramp?”

 

“Don’t let Hanji hear you asking that.” Connie started to grin, but it quickly morphed into a look of horror as Sasha threw herself back into his lap, onion grass protruding from her mouth in earthy tufts.

 

“Disgusting,” Annie muttered.

 

“Spelled...?”

 

She cast a glare at Armin. He hid behind his book.

 

“D-i-s-g-u-s-t-i-n-g. Like you.”

 

“Good! … I think.”

 

“Humph.”

 

“And fuck this,” Ymir hissed. She threw her hands up, causing Historia’s hair to flutter back around her ears, the woman in question peering up curiously. Ymir continued to seethe.

 

“It’s too damn short. If you want a braid you need to grow it out some, ya brat.” The last was spoken fondly.

 

“Oh.” Historia fiddled with an end. “Yeah. It kept coming out of its ponytail and getting in the way. Seemed best to cut it.”

 

“I tried to cut Sasha’s...” Connie said. His hand moved instinctually toward her head, but snapped back as she made to bite. “ _Tried_. I’m not food, Sasha!”

 

Annie cocked her head at Mikasa. “You had the right idea months ago. Long hair’s not good for battle.”

 

“Not me.” Mikasa’s movement slowed considerably. She wiped the cloth gently over the blade’s edge, almost reverently. “Eren said I should cut it.”

 

“ _Eren said._ Of fucking course. So it’s Yeager’s fault that Ymir’s pissed now too? Figures.” Jean flopped backwards onto the grass.

 

“He has lovely hair,” Mikasa added.

 

“Who?”

 

“Eren. It’s very soft.”

 

All eyes turned towards the titan. There was a beat of silence in which only the wind (and a few mutterings of Hanji) could be heard until, as one, a sigh seemed to settle over the group. Historia and Ymir exchanged a look. They brought Annie into the fold. Annie caught hold of Mikasa’s sleeve. They even garnered Sasha’s attention. The five of them turned back towards Eren with a terrifying glint in their eyes.

 

Armin laughed nervously. “Wait. You’re not really thinking...?”

 

“What?” Jean perked up. “What?”

 

“Get the supplies,” Historia ordered to no one in particular. She vaulted to her feet and set off running, the other girls following.

 

“Wait for me!” Connie shouted. Armin was two steps behind him, stumbling to keep up.

 

Jean was left sitting on the grass.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

***

 

Corporal Levi had seen a great deal in his life. He’d risen up to the surface from the underground, earned the title of Humanity’s Strongest, cultivated friendships with the most unlikely bunch (Hanji was sitting three branches above him, literally drooling onto their notebook…) though admittedly, even after all this, if someone had approached Levi and informed him that one day he’d be watching over a titan he’d grown exceptionally fond of, eyes widening as his band of misfit kiddies scaled the massive arms to throw themselves into his hair...

 

Well. Levi would have had that person locked up fast. Or stabbed them. Either or.

 

“Hanji,” he said, voice strangled.

 

“Shhhh.” They dipped their head even closer to the paper, greasy hair leaving—ugh—marks along the edges. “These are super delicate calculations! Ooooh, our Eren provides such fascinating data!”

 

He tried once more. “Four-eyes—”

 

“ _Shh!_ ”

 

Levi nodded. Fine then. The kids could just do... whatever the fuck it was they were doing.

 

He watched as Ymir hefted Historia onto her shoulder and threw her eight feet into the air, executing some sort of fancy flip in the process. Historia grabbed hold of Eren’s bangs and swung there a moment, laughing, Eren’s teeth clenched in horror at the tiny human bumping against his nose.

 

“... Erwin doesn’t pay me enough for this shit.”

 

“We don’t get paid.”

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

***

 

“Just keep still a little while longer, Eren,” Historia cooed. She ignored the frantic eyes that snapped her way, busy pulling the belt out of her pants. She frowned down at the strip of leather. “This isn’t nearly enough. Hey, Jean! Grab the gear straps!”

 

Jean skidded to a halt by Eren’s knee, the only one still on the ground.

 

“Why?” he shrieked.

 

“We’re gonna braid Eren’s hair!”

 

“... Why???”

 

“Is there anything better to do in a fucking deserted castle?” Annie muttered. She paused in the crook of Eren’s arm, rolling her eyes and tucking her book away. She turned and gave Armin a hand up. Connie and Sasha were already dancing on Eren’s other shoulder, making tiny nicks in the skin and then laughing as they dodged the steam that poured forth.

 

Eren didn’t notice. The moment Historia had said “braid” and “Eren” and “hair” he’d well and truly frozen, his displeasure only noticeable by the low growl he’d started emitting.

 

“See?” Jean gestured expansively. “Yeager thinks it’s a dumbass idea too. Braids? Him? _What_? If we’re agreeing you know your plan is shit, okay, you _know_.”

 

The growling intensified, as if in—yes—reluctant agreement.

 

Instead of being intimidated, Historia just leaned forward and whacked Eren soundly on the nose.

 

“You don’t really mind, do you, Eren?” She grinned. “It’s just so _boring_ around here...”

 

“He doesn’t mind,” Mikasa answered. She was seated on the very top of Eren’s head, poised there like a fierce queen on her admittedly odd throne. With a contented sigh Mikasa settled backwards, hand threading through Eren’s hair. “Soft,” she murmured.

 

Armin panted out a laugh. “Keep that up and your eyes will stick that way, Eren!”

 

He stopped trying to see Mikasa.

 

“Raahhhhsssss,” Eren said. “Rah!”

 

No translation needed.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Suck it up.” With a soft ‘oof’ Historia skid down until she rested in the palm of his left hand. “Right! Mikasa—start untangling that mess. Annie? Armin? I want you two coming up with the sickest braids humanity has ever seen. Ymir—fetch some sap from the nearby trees. As much as you can get. We’ll need it for styling. Connie, Sasha... uh… actually, keep doing what you’re doing. You might be onto something there. Jean? Didn’t I tell you to get the gear?”

 

Jean’s shoulders slumped. He looked to Eren. Eren looked to him. In tandem their shoulders dropped another inch. (Connie: “Watch it, Eren!”)

 

“Well?”

 

“... gear. Right. I give up. As you wish, Your Majesty.”

 

“Good boy. Now hurry u—”

 

“Oi!”

 

They all jumped and turned to find Levi approaching fast, his white uniform stark against the background and his expression fierce. He threw his arm out to point at them all, the slice of his fingers as sharp as any sword.

 

“You shits—no one is touching that mess until its been washed. Disinfected. _Sanitized_.” He twitched as he caught sight of Mikasa. “ _You_ need cleansing.”

 

Eren made a rather pitiful sound, his expression wounded. Levi just glared at him.

 

“Don’t give me that, brat. When was the last time you washed your titan hair? Oh, that’s right. _Never_.”

 

“Disgusting,” Annie repeated, crossing her arms.

 

Levi’s arm shot out again. “I like you. Get me water.”

 

“Aye, Corporal.”

 

“The rest of you useless sacks of fat can find brushes and as much fucking shampoo as you can carry. Bring it all.”

 

“Uh... sir?” Armin approached warily, his hands already raised. “Then, um, what will _we_ use?”

 

“We’ll requisition more.”

 

“But we don’t have the budget...”

 

Levi paused. “You.”

 

They turned. Sasha blinked.

 

“Me?” she garbled.

 

“You’re from one of the hunting villages? You made your own supplies?” Levi’s eyes narrowed. “Replenish the shampoo after this and you can have half my dinner.”

 

Sasha slowly—ever so slowly—sat up. The grass in her mouth fell away and her eyes lit up like twin, shining stars. Very _hungry_ stars.

 

“Half?” she whispered, reverently.

 

“Half the bread, half the soup, half the fucking glass of water if you want it.” Levi pushed Sasha away as she made to kiss his feet. “As for the rest of you—do what the short one said.”

 

Historia’s eyes narrowed. “You realize I’m the only one you can say that to, right, sir?”

 

But Levi was already climbing up a disgruntled Eren’s side, the rest of his group scattering to the winds. In a few quick moves he’d reached Eren’s neck, pausing beside the pointed ear and hanging there with an intense look of concentration on his face.

 

“Gonna make you fucking gorgeous, Yeager.”

 

***

 

Petra Ral had also seen a great deal of strange things in her time. The difference was that unlike the rest of humanity, she was smart enough to realize that she’d probably see stranger things in the future. That was life.

 

So when she exited onto the castle’ courtyard, following the wall until she came upon the south field, and there found her Corporal leading the 104th in braiding a titan Eren’s hair... well...

 

“That’s actually kinda impressive,” she muttered.

 

It was. They’d clearly washed it first—Levi’s influence no doubt—the evidence in the ten... fifteen... _seventeen_ containers of shampoo Petra saw scattered across the grass. Numerous buckets half emptied of water were equally strewn about. The overall effect was twice as much volume in Eren’s locks, his hair puffing up almost comically in the wind. Luckily the team was well underway in taming it. Ymir and Historia were crafting cascades of French braids near the top of Eren’s skull, while Armin and Annie where coaxing the under layer into a relaxed fishtail. Jean and Levi were in charge of bangs, both of them looking far too engaged for Petra’s liking. Connie was weaving strips of the 3DMG leather into the finished product. Sasha was... cutting Eren? Oh. The steam. She was using his body’s steam to curl the hair before the others braided it. That was inventive. And Mikasa... Mikasa was constructing a massive flower-crown out of every brightly colored weed she could find. Petra thought she spotted happy tears in her eyes.

 

Eren’s tears were anything but.

 

He tried to catch her gaze as she strolled across the field. Petra wasn’t blind. Instead she lifted her head and started up a jaunty whistle to drown out his whimpers. She didn’t stop until she’d reached the nearby oak.

 

“Hanji?” Petra called.

 

Hanji’s head dipped further, their nose brushing against their journal. Drool now nearly covered the pages and Petra caught the tail end of a snore.

 

“Hanji!”

 

“Wha—!” They startled, nearly falling from the tree. At the last second Hanji caught themselves and swung only halfway, hanging upside down to blink drowsily at Petra.

 

“Is it m’ birthday yet?” They yawned, rubbing at their eyes. Petra laughed as they hit more of their glasses than they did skin.

 

“Sure is. Take a look.” She cocked a thumb at Eren.

 

“Huh?” Hanji peered, their brain finally catching up with the image.

 

“WhhhhhaaaAAAAAA EREN! YOU’RE SO PRETTY!”

 

Petra saw the exact moment _Hanji’s_ existence reasserted itself in Eren’s mind. His titan body froze, very much like the deer caught in a hunter’s lamplight, and she was sure he only stayed put because of the handful of tiny humans hanging suspended around his face. As it was, that hesitation cost him. Within seconds Hanji was closing in— _fast_.

 

“WHO DECIDED THIS? WHAT GENIUS? EREN. EREN, CAN I TOUCH IT? PLEEEEEEASE?? DOES IT HURT AT ALL? CAN YOU FEEL THEM WORKING? YOU’VE STILL BEEN HOLDING STILL HAVEN’T YOU? LEVI!! PULL OUT SOME HAIR. I WANT TO SEE IF IT GROWS BACK.”

 

Levi planted his boots against Eren’s cheek (ignoring his huff) and tsked at her. “It grows back, shitty eyes.” He gestured to the mound of hair they’d pulled out while detangling. It sat like a giant cat’s fur-ball next to Eren’s foot.

 

“IT’S NOT DISINTEGRATING??? EEEEEEEEEE!”

 

Petra shook her head and started back as Hanji threw herself face-first into the pile.

 

“Dammit, Hanji! That stuff is filthy!”

 

“Eeeeeeeeeeeaaaahhhhh!”

 

“ _Don’t bring it near me!_ ”

 

Petra slipped into a jog as she spotted Eld over by the stables. He’d approached at all the shouting, but was now edging away, looking like he’d prefer to forget whatever it was he’d seen. Petra waved him down.

 

“Eld. Hey wait! You still draw don’t you?”

 

***

 

Erwin had never seen anything quite as ridiculous as this.

 

... though admittedly, he said that every week. (Courtesy of the 104th).

 

“Commander?” Ros asked. She stepped forward tentatively at the groan Erwin emitted. His face was planted firmly in his hands, a recently receive message on the desk in front of him.

 

“Are you ill?”

 

“Yes,” he whispered and shoved the paper at her. Ros barely caught it before it hit the floor. Hesitantly—should the Commander be sharing such important correspondence?—she unfurled the scroll.

 

“Eh?!” Ros reared back, not expecting a vivid image of a titan to be staring back at her. As she looked again though, she found... braids? Yes, and flowers. And strips of cloth interwoven in a variety of patterns. It was actually quite gorgeous and Ros would have put it down to some child’s joke if she hadn’t recognized the titan in question. It was the Yeager boy, looking _highly_ disgruntled.

 

“I hate my job,” Erwin moaned.

 

There was a second paper beneath the first. A letter.

 

_Erwin,_

_Tell your stupid minions to make copies of Eld’s picture—it’s fucking art. Good propaganda. Who’s gonna be afraid of the “prettiest titan in the garrison”? (Kirstein’s words. That kid’s gonna go far)._

_Also - send more shampoo. I want to keep my fucking dinner, thanks._

_Fuck you and fuck yours,_

_Levi_

_P.S. Titan hair makes great rope. Would recommend farming it on the next mission._

_P.P.S. There’s a copy for you. Enjoy._

“Uh… sir?” Ros tentatively held out the third sheet—this one framed in bark. “It’s for you…”

 

There would come a time when new recruits were inducted into the Survey Corps. When they’d be sent to the Commander’s office for one reason or another and left waiting just long enough to notice the framed picture on his desk. The one with “prettiest titan” carved into the frame.

“Do you think it was an abnormal?” They’d whisper.

 

“Had to be. Bet you the Commander’s real proud of that kill.”

 

“I hear he kept a lock of hair as a souvenir.”

 

“Well _I_ hear he does more than ‘keep’ it…”

 

They say that the truth is stranger than fiction, but nothing is stranger than the rumors that truth produces. Erwin Smith never forgave.

 

Eren never forgot.


End file.
